There was the motor accident, too. All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. ‘It is in truth you?’ ‘Of course it is I. So this was what it was all about. "Whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat. The picture of her flashed across the doctor's vision magically. . . CHAPTER XXXII. Sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended.
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